n Monte
Carlo. Say, I'd heard a lot about Monte Carlo on and off--there was a
song about it once, you know--but if that's the best imitation of Phil
Daly's they can put up over there, they'd better go out of business. Not
that the scenery isn't bang-up and the police protection O. K., but the
game--well, I've seen more excitement over a ten-cent ante.

The Boss didn't care much for that sort of thing anyway. He touched 'em
up for a stack or two, but almost went to sleep over it. It wasn't until
Old Blue Beak butted in that our visit began to look interestin'. He was
a count, or a duke, or something, with a name full of i's and l's, but I
called him Blue Beak for short. The Boss said for a miniature word
painting that couldn't be bettered. Never saw a finer specimen of
hand-decorated frontispiece in my life. It wasn't just red, nor purple.
It was as near blue as a nose can get. Other ways, he was a tall, skinny
old freak, with a dyed mustache and little black eyes as shifty as a fox
terrier's. He was as polite, though, as a book agent, and as smooth as
the business side of a banana skin.

"What's his game," says I to the Boss, after Blue Beak and him had
swapped French conversation for an hour. "Is it gold bricks or green
goods?"

"My friend, the count," says the Boss, "wants to rent us a castle, all
furnished and found; a genuine antique, with a pedigree that runs back
to Marc Antony."

"A castle!" says I. "What's that the cue to? And how did he guess you
were a come-on?"

"Every American is a come-on, Shorty," says the Boss. "But this is a new
proposition to me. However, I mean to find out. I've told him to come
back after dinner."

And old Blue Beak had his memory with him, all right. He came back. He
and the Boss had a long session of it. In the morning the Boss says to
me:

"Shorty, throw out your chest; you're going to live in a castle for a
while."

Then he told me how it happened. Blue Beak wasn't any con. man at all,
just one of those hard-up gents whose names look well in a list of
guests, but don't carry weight with the paying teller. He was in such a
rush to get the ranch off his hands, though, that price didn't seem to
figure much. That's what made the Boss sit up and take notice. He was a
great one for wanting to know why.

"We'll start to-day," says he.

So off we goes, moseyin' down into It'ly on a bum railroad, staying at
bummer hotels, and switching off to a rickety old chaise behind a pai